} where you go I go

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} where you go I go

Trinidad.

A place Bond rather liked, actually. Beautiful beaches, beautiful women, and he spoke Spanish well enough to take advantage of both. As a plus, there was also a very small likelihood of having to navigate a frozen wasteland; his memories of Russia were never good ones outside of the bedroom. His memories of Trinidad, however, were quickly getting colored by the annoyance of this mission.

Bond's done his share of escort missions, but they've almost exclusively been with women he's run across that he's helping in some way. It's not difficult to be patient with them. More than that, he elected to take them along. Q's presence here... is a different story. Mandated from on high (on high being Mallory, a designation Bond hasn't quite shifted over to just M yet-- he hasn't proven himself enough) and passed down through Q himself, who to his credit seems none happier than Bond about circumstances.

He's had to ditch his aviator sunglasses with some regret in order to return fire cleanly. His light linen shirt, very casual, is getting dirty from all the sand both from ricochet bullets and from having to hit the ground a time or two. Their current sand dune is high and covered with reeds, which makes it great cover for shooting at men on a boat anchored near the stunning Caribbean shoreline.

They're trying to take off, but won't get far. Bond's made sure to hit the engine a time or two, deliberately not where it would explode but thoroughly ruining the gears.

Q, of course, is being a nuisance of a dead weight on this whole thing. A noncombatant he has to protect with no reward at the end to sweeten the deal. Bond shifts a sardonic glance to where he's huddled with his bag of tech beside the dune with him.

"If I'd known you'd attract this much attention, Q, I'd have taken you out ages ago," he drawls.

He needs Q to retrieve the information they need, something they were too smart to set up with any access to the internet. Intranet servers only. That doesn't mean Bond has to be nice about it.

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"And here I've been trying to hide my luck with social endeavors, how unfortunate you had to find out." The joke is he's never been one to really gather attention in such a violent way, or as heated, positive or negative. Any attention in his direction well- it led to his position now of course. But that certainly can't be called in anyway a 'party.'

Q certainly doesn't enjoy this feeling of uselessness either. Much of his job, of either of their jobs is doing just the opposite. He'd rather be helping from a comfortable chair and less straining light, but here he is. Apparently being in the fray was necessary due so some scrambling technology against them, and this close meant he could keep his hands in to help. Still- it wasn't really easy to help when sand kept flying out over them and covering his screen. He wasn't a field agent either, and while he'd hardly jump at the sound of a gunshot, it was different when it was many of them aimed at him.

"Would you mind using some of that effort to demean my hypothetical social life into keeping a better eye on our new 'friends' please? Thank you, 007." Said with a sort of pert sigh as he moves to brush a hand over his laptop again.

Fine then. He'll take a break from the information gathering for now to try at something else. A glance up quickly proves he won't get anywhere by looking through the reeds himself, so instead he diverts his attention to Bond. A weary look due to the circumstance, but he has a thoughtful glint to his eyes, a hand raising to adjust his glasses.

"Now then, would you take a look over there and tell me how many vehicles they have with them?" He assumes, due to the prestige of their guests, that the vehicles will have a Smart System. He- hopes anyway. "And do they look like junkers to you, be honest." Looking back to his computer again, he moves to grab something out of a shoulder back, popping it into the side of the computer.

There's nothing Bond likes more than some engaging banter while he's taking his life into his own hands. The implicit trust in taking shelter behind him isn't lost on him, either. Both parts of this are a heady rush-- the adrenaline, but also the faith in his ability to protect. Sometimes it seems like there's so little else he does that's unequivocally good.

Not that he wastes time thinking about it. It's just satisfying to have it all line up.

This is a mission related question, so Bond answers professionally, curt and to the point. He has to pop his head up from behind cover to make his assessment before ducking back down again. "Two boats and an SUV on the sand. Typical drug cartel yachts-- can't spot the car make from here. High end."

Then he's smirking straight at him, professionalism over. "What makes you think I wasn't serious?" About taking him out earlier. His blood's getting up from all this action, and if he doesn't expect Q to be receptive to his reflexive flirting, it doesn't make it any less entertaining.

Edited 2015-11-24 02:14 (UTC)

Well James certainly makes it obvious he can handle himself, even if he puts some reliance on others like Q. Q certainly isn't going to waste any time questioning Bond on if he can handle this, it's better to assume he can, disrespectful not to as well.

"Hmm the yachts might get us some time but the SUV..." Saying to himself, half back to Bond. The clicking and ticking sound of keys can be heard after it, his eyes squinting a little as he cranes his head forward, watching his screen. If the SUV is high end, that'll gain them the most help, still, the yachts will definitely prove a good distraction- if their company are low ballers, he sure hopes they spent the extra money on more automated vehicles.

"Serious about what-" Said only partially paying attention before the question better sinks into his mind. He almost glances over to him, often finding it easier to deal with Bond when he has an expression to go off of. But yes- this is professional, so he focuses on the task when he continues his reply. He's not exactly taking it as flirting either, more of just that usual banter often possible with Bond. He didn't mind it really, it could be enjoyable when he wasn't being pressured too... Though, he's getting used to James tugging him around more and more as time goes by.

"I'm sure you're completely serious about the two yachts and the SUV, unless you're eyesight's starting to go, 007, so soon? You can't be that old yet, can you?" Said with a slight smirk, purposely ignoring what James is actually talking about and going right for his age. Why not? Bond sure liked to take pot shots at his own, shouldn't the fact that he's young be impressive? Gosh.

Bond is quickly approaching the statistical outlier for surviving age in double-oh agents, but he's not a technological dinosaur. He can competently perform any number of espionage related tasks on computers, they just happen to involve intercepting communications or downloading or transferring files. Cracking encryptions and tracking things is far beyond his purview. Whatever Q is planning to do, he has no idea what it entails except for an understanding that there's GPS relays in high end vehicles. He trusts Q's competence in his field as much as Q trusts his own, which is profoundly satisfying feeling from both sides.

It does mean that he knows Q is more than smart enough to read it as flirting. He's listened through Bond's comms link enough times to how he is on the job, after all. "Must be, if I'm contemplating going somewhere for drinks with you." He says it so perfunctorily, it's hard to tell how much of a compliment and how much of an insult it is on balance.

But he's getting restless, itchy. He's not made to duck behind cover forever and let the man behind the earpiece dictate everything, no matter how enjoyable the banter is. Q already has a weapon (standard protocol) but Bond unholsters a tiny, concealable handgun from under his pant leg and sets it in the sand between them, correctly pointed away. "Take this. You sit here and play detective, I'm going to do this the old-fashioned way. Yell if you need help."

Then he's shooting to his feet and off with his Walther leading the way, crouched over as he swiftly navigates down the dunes toward the parking lot. If he knows how cartels work, they're setting up an ambush for if they try to run. Perfect opportunity to ambush the ambush, grab someone, and extract the intel he wants on his own.

Edited 2015-11-24 02:35 (UTC)

"If I remember right, I did say I have a mortgage, one that I doubt could handle the 'drinks' you mean." As in waaaay too much to afford. As easily as it was to hear how much of a flirt Bond was, it was easy to see he had a bit of a drinking problem. He adjusts his glasses again, tapping once more on his keyboard before looking back over to James.

"Or are you taking a shot at my complexion again, 007? Really now?" Eyes are going, calling him ugly, what a low blow. But not long after that he's being given a gun and Bond is leaving to do things his way. For a moment he tries to stop him only to watch him disappear past another dune and- really... A breath, a tightening of his teeth. He really didn't want to be here getting shot at... in the sand... in the field, but he could handle himself. Just as James could.

Not long after James flew off to do god knows what, he'll hear the out crying sounds of the cartels as they dart towards their now quickly leaving yachts. The ships, currently unmanned, are now effectively darting out from the shore line as quickly as possible. They're one ticket out of the area, it makes all they have left that SUV and not long after the yachts desert them, the SUV seems to take the opportunity to slam into a group of them from behind and crash into them hard enough to send them into the water.

Q finally takes a moment to look over the dune, unsure about if his aim was right, or about where James is at all... He's hoping he hadn't hit him as well.

Edited 2015-11-24 02:49 (UTC)

James is nowhere near, fortunately. He's in the exact opposite direction.

And as if Bond wouldn't pay for his date's drinks, even if it was less of a real date and more of a taunt. He was a gentleman.

Actions, not words, are what really make up James. From insulting someone but making it clear he would go out with them, to cutting the conversation short to run off and commit his regularly scheduled spot of violence, it's more than plain. He never says anything of value; it's what he does that counts.

Currently, he's ducking behind a lovely two seater in the parking lot, slinking over to his target. It wasn't even hard to identify, with them picking out weaponry from the trunk compartment of their matching SUV. Subtlety, thy name was not Venezuelan drug cartels. Bond is moving fast because he'd made their position clear when he was returning fire, and Q is still back there. Cavalier as he might seem about Q's safety, leaving him an extra gun and then running off, he's conscientious of it. He needs to reveal where he is now to draw attention to him.

Getting hurt he can handle. It's something he barely even notices these days, like all the nervous receptors for that have turned off past the physical sensation. Getting someone else hurt on his watch is another thing.

That's how he ends up making sure he makes some noise to draw attention while he takes out the goons. He kills all but one, the harsh barks of his Walther enough to serve his purposes of distraction-- he's under no illusion that whatever Q is doing won't end up being vital in the end; that's how it works. His half-formed plans of hurried torture (not much more than slamming his fist into his gut repeatedly, if he's honest, since he's pressed for time here and James doesn't have the stomach for anything sadistic) is put to an end when the one he'd saved manages to produce another gun. Bond only manages to redirect the shot by aiming it at the man's own throat.

He curses viciously and sets to work on the backup plan, which is briskly frisking the corpses for cell phones and passcards and IDs. He collects them all, dumps them roughly at the foot of the passenger seat, and slams the trunk closed. Sure enough, he's succeeded at drawing attention, and as the main bulk of the cartel goons take their leave on the remaining working yacht, he sees the other SUV seemingly drive itself into the water. He spares a chuckle for that, recognizing Q's handiwork when he sees it, but is too focused on the mission to be distracted. Down the street, more backup is on its way, some moron already taking a potshot that's too far out to hit anywhere reliably. Thankfully, he'd acquired the keys to this one during his frisking and doesn't need to hotwire it under pressure.

James ends up roaring over the sand away from his pursuit in the stolen SUV, a small armory in the back and five mens' worth of personal effects haphazardly thrown on the floor, rattling around. He manages a perfectly executed drift to a stop over the sand several feet away from where Q remains. It's not the first time he's had a high speed chase over difficult terrain.

"Time to go," he yells out the open window. "We'll have to do drinks later."

"Oh-" Cough cough, said as sand dusts up, not that the SUV is that close, but close enough for it to get in the air and into his mouth. He shuts his laptop quickly, pulling out the device from before and grabs onto his shoulder bag. A slight stumble later as he pushes himself up and he moves to the car.

"Yes, because I had assumed you usually drank on the job, you would never." So obviously drinks later, he's got it.

"What did you find?" Back to business then as he gets into the back seat, buckles up, and is taking his laptop out once more. He moves to adjust his glasses and wipe at his screen before he's starting at what he was meant to before, working under the scrambling tech they have easily at this proximity, he'll focus on getting into their network.

"You wouldn't've happened on any phones during your little adventure, would you?" Because that surely would make this go faster and it was obvious they needed to do this in record time with the body count moving up as it was. He was confident enough in his own skills to continue this search even in a wild car chase though, considering that might very well be was was in store next. Better than hiding behind a sand dune anyway.

James is peeling out the instant Q is in, before the door has even latched shut. He wants to keep far enough ahead that they don't have to duck bullets if it all possible.

"Got a whole collection for you, Q," he says in his gravelly voice, keeping his eyes on the rear view mirror almost as much as the dunes in front of him. He turns sharply to the left instead of going over the hill of sand, going away from the coast and attempting to get back to paved road. "Check under your seat. Had a few hiccups getting the car."

The SUV is groaning under the force of acceleration he's putting it through as he whips out onto the road at long last, but true to his luck, the one in pursuit had seen ahead and beat him back. They're a good fifty yards behind still, but are already up to speed and closing fast.

Bond's only reaction is, "I don't suppose you could do that trick with their GPS systems again, could you?"

The force of the car easily flings him to the side, following by a thud of the ceiling when he snaps a hand up to try and brace himself in place. No complaining though, what needs to be done, needs to be done, still he's just happy he had a good hold on his computer and as soon as the vehicle levels out again he's already removing that same device from before.

"A regular bonanza I'd say." Said as he leans down to pick up what 'gifts' James gathered, hiccups he said? This looked good, he could do enough with it, but it seemed that needed to take a break as well in favour of this chase.

"What trick?" Said after a few moments of typing and a sudden explosion behind them. A glance to the mirror will make James privy to a smoldering SUV and a few of it's passengers pushing themselves off the ground. Baaack to the following those transmissions, something that'll be much easier with those phones.

"A simple enough security, though it seems most of them were rather tight with who they-

Well not all of them."

"...Hm."

The curt professionalism is one of the things he likes best about Q, he has to admit. Bond doesn't have a lot of patience for those who get in the way of him doing his job when he's utterly focused on it.

Of course, conversely, hearing all that professionalism makes him want to break through it and tease out another kind of response.

Bond laughs despite himself at the sudden explosion from the pursuit vehicle, a quiet, rough chuckle. "Maybe I should take you out more often," he says with amusement, foot easing off the gas pedal only a little as he relaxes his posture back into the seat, turning this into a leisurely drive back to the hotel. Leisurely for 007 is still about ninety kilometers per hour; he just spends far less time looking in the rear view and making evasive maneuvering.

"What'd you find?" Given Q's ridiculous feat with the vehicles, he has total faith that a suite of cell phones will yield them what they're looking for.

Well it helps that Q is brilliant and aware of it. He got this position due to how efficient and creative he is and he'd like to continue to prove that worth. Bond needn't suggest a thing to him when it came to this sort of work though on the field Q would probably be happier with no one else to cover for him, he's really not fit for this sort of thing.

"I'm a bit over sized compared to your other gadgets, don't you think? I'd never issue you something so cumbersome." Though he smiles at the idea of doing this more, as new and straining as it is, the banter Bond offers makes it that much easier on him. This speed they shift to driving as well, compared to how they were this is indeed leisurely and he takes a breath to calm down before sitting back.

"Our next target location. And I'm beginning to wonder if you some how plan these. Not that you could and surely I'd know if you had, but how often we send you somewhere where a good suit is part of the 'disguise' has gone beyond coincidence at this point." Still smiling a little to himself, he turns to look out of the window, pushing his bangs away slightly from his view.

"Though I suppose my forethought is as good as ever, I managed to bring my own." Suit that is, gasp.

Bond flicks his eyes up and down Q's length just once before turning back to the road, unconcerned. "I don't know," he says mildly, "I think I could fit you in my luggage." A comment on his size that he leaves ambiguous, again, about whether it's an insult or a come on.

"That's why they send me on these, Q. You can't imagine 004 cleaned up in a Tom Ford, can you?" Bond has no real factual basis to back up that assumption, but it makes sense. Any mission likely to need graceful, high class undercover work, and he was the natural choice. It did make it far less of a coincidence. A moment later he's continuing smoothly, "So where are we going? Presumably somewhere you can't wear a cardigan." Another subtle jab as he turns the car onto the road back toward civilization. A couple street signs in Spanish have popped up now, mile markers, mostly.

Not long later.

Casino de Campione, an Italian casino, one rather unexpected as well, they've kept more so clean but apparently someone had a debt and the casino held it's tongue for their targets. The casino was busy tonight as well, most likely on purpose to better cover any shady business. Though busy meant better for the two of them as well. Unfortunately for Q it meant abandoning his laptop for now because apparently doing his work from their room above wasnt going to be good enough for Bond.

"Again I'm strung along, you'd think the room would be satisfactory, my work's best from afar you know." Said as he finally steps out of the room to meet James in the hall. From his loosely tailored light brown tweed suit he pulls a small case, handing it to him with a thoughtful glance down the hall.

"Your 'personal statement', I trust it did you well enough before." Referring to the gun inside coded only to James' palm. Upon opening it he'll see a set of cufflinks to replace his own and a small rounded, square device.

"The cufflinks can be thought of a personal statement as well but removing them with a twist to the right will release a covering smoke. Nothing too painful for the eyes and with a few seconds of delay to better locate yourself." He leans closer, briefly pointing to the third item.

"As for that, it's a direct link to my phone." Which he takes out now to sweep and tap a thumb on.

"It should make getting into any doors easy enough, or well, I will, as soon as you place it near any locking device- aside from grandmothers skeleton loxk of course. For that I suggest some elbow grease and a nice push."

Speaking of memories associated with places, there's a lot of memories about casinos for Bond. All of which he has resolutely pushed aside. He's on the job, and he has a quartermaster to tease. He has plenty of things to distract him from the inside of his head.

What would he do if he stopped? He doesn't know, so he doesn't stop.

Dressed in subtle midnight blue-on-blue pinstripes with a slate gray tie and black loafers, James is as sharp and deadly as ever. He eyes Q's tweed as he accepts the case, sets it on his hotel room table, and clicks it open. There's an internal sigh at having to remove his carefully chosen, stylish cufflinks, but he goes about replacing them without a word, using quick, smooth hand motions.

"Thank you, Q," he says smoothly. "I believe I can handle the elbow grease. Make sure to follow my lead while we're inside." Bond fits the gun into his shoulder holster snugly, then straightens out the lines of his jacket, lapels and cuffs. "It'd be dreadful to have to break in another new quartermaster so soon. Even if you do wear tweed. We'll have to say you're my accountant."

Well at least having a Quartermaster around makes it a very different situation, right? It's easy not to reminisce when what they're doing now is different enough. Well- not THEY, Q is hardly used to this sort of field work but he's relatively good at gambling, naturally. A casino isn't really that difficult of a place for him to blend in either with how broad the types are that enjoyed gambling. Sure he wasn't nearly as suave as Bond but really- who was?

And who COULD be in a tweed suit.

A slight raise of his brow to Bond soft judgement of the cufflinks, he doesn't say anything about it, but was strangely endearing in and of itself. Really Bond? And here he thought you liked the silly classics.

"Accountant?" He chimes, a little offended at the idea. He lifts his chin, letting his eyebrows draw in slightly. "Well-" He smiles.

"Nevermind, that's perfect, you look the part of needing one." An attractive man in a nice suit? Of course he's all face and no numbers, man like that would definitely need an accountant. "Don't worry, I'll do my best not to embarrass you, believe me I fear that more than anything they can do." Stepping over to the door, away and ahead of him, he'll open it and glance back.

"Shall we then?" Before stepping out.

"It's that or my personal assistant," Bond says with a hint of dryness, tugging one last final line straight and then following him out. He's as comfortable and confident as ever, back straight, eyes cool and observant without signaling paranoia.

He is paranoid, of course, but looking like he is is one of the surest ways to single himself out as a spy.

"I'll do my best to seem uselessly rich and unembarrassed. Let's."

James shuts the door behind them, locks it and overtakes Q somewhere in between the elevator down to the lobby and the parking lot. He pulls the passenger door open like he's helping a lady, feeling compelled to see how far he can push Q on the flirting before he gets a different response, good or bad.

He wouldn't be 007 if he didn't feel compelled to poke sleeping predators with sticks.

Well, James is a professional, and as playful as their banter might be, they had an appearance to keep. Q fixes his own posture as well, though his expression hardly seems as cool and charming. Certainly observant but- there's this prissiness to him that takes over when the smile finally drops. Cockiness almost? Though almost aloof, wide eyed and owl like.

"How charming." Is all James will really get from opening the door. More cat and mouse, Q certainly notices, but he's also aware of how playful Bond can be. That and his phone is very quickly taking up his attention, more so than his current partner, sorry James. He might be sitting passenger in the car he gave you, but your certainly sitting passenger to his attention span.

Though, of course he's on task. His phone is out because he's already making his way into the building's blueprints, memorizing the layout inch by inch, mumbling to himself a little as he does it.

He certainly does get playful, especially here where he's in his element. Infiltration undercover in high-class venues is one of his specialties, as he'd mentioned, but it's also a rush of its own sort, distinct from the rush of violence. One usually leads into the other, and that preemptive build up is something Bond has come to anticipate. It puts him in a good mood.

He settles himself into the driver's side, snicking the door shut and starting the ignition. He supposes he really shouldn't be surprised that he's playing back seat to Q's phone, after all the phones he'd supplied him himself. That's a lot of information to keep sifting through.

Such a tepid response to his silent teasing only encourages him further, but he is a professional and he tempers it for a moment. "Is this the first time you've ridden in one of your cars, or do you get to test drive?" Bond has no idea how hands on Q is with his cars, or whether he delegates most of it to minions. He eases the ludicrously expensive, bulletproof Aston Martin out of the parking space and is quickly making his way down the road at a speed nearing what he'd used during the chase on the beach.

Yes but Q is used to Bond being more playful in this way with women. It's just more common, he supposes James hasn't ever shown lack of interest in his own sex, but women showing interest in him, and him doing the same for them, just happened well

quite

a bit.

So maybe he's a tad thrown off by it, though not enough to show it. He wouldn't know how to really respond either way, especially if it was meant more seriously. That said, him seeing Bond flirt usually resulted in fade to black, it wasn't as though he was always watching the other man. So he hasn't a clue about how heated the the agent can get after it all. Most of the time, Q's still busy 'after it all' too, he's got a lot of work before, during, and after most missions.

"Mmn, I usually have no need to test them myself." Said as his eyes dart around his small screen, near frantic along with the sweeping motions of his thumb and index.

"But this isn't the first time, no. I've been driven in them here and there." But doesn't really drive himself... he can drive a car through remote control if that counts? He can fine tune a car to be lavished by Bond, make him an automobile savant, but driving himself... not so much.

"The last time I was given a ride it was none other than 009." A smirk, knowing Bond often has a sigh or two for that particular agent.

Men are harder. Out in the wild, most of the men Bond meets aren't the type to take a pass at them sitting down, and he's trying not to draw negative or controversial attention while he's undercover, besides. It's not safe, it's not a great environment for it, and Bond admits that he's so comfortable and so used to women that it's easy and simple for him with them. Men he doesn't have nearly that experience with, though his confidence doesn't falter. How different could they be?

If Q were a woman, and therefore James were surer of his reception, he'd be flirting just as heavily as he has been with Moneypenny. This counts as his oblique approach.

"So you prefer to ride rather than drive?" he asks smoothly, leaving how much innuendo is in that statement up to the listener to interpret. "Preferably with someone more skilled at the wheel than 009." That part has a slight sarcastic undertone.

Well, they do tend to keep it more under wraps, unless you're in the right areas. It was just a general norm in society, slowly changing, but still for now heterosexuality was what people were most open about. But times certainly do change.

How considerate of Bond to be more subtle for him though. But subtle enough and Q can just coast on pretending to be oblivious. Still, it's oddly... well. Flattering.

"I prefer to ride, yes." He's already young in Bond's opinion but he feels oddly younger with his his lips curl slightly at the corners. Really Bond, that innuendo is thick. Are you only getting things from him for your missions or do you have a writer now too?

No- no this is all natural and Q knows it. Still, even with his silent amusement, he remains ontop of what he's doing on his phone, easily dividing his attention as they speak.

"Preferably? Maybe I'm perfectly comfortable at his pace. That and I usually get my vehicles back intact, is that so terrible?"

"There's nothing wrong with 'safe', 007, infact, I make my living on being it."

He ignores the intrigued thrill that goes through him at that I prefer to ride-- a dozen mental images suggest themselves immediately-- and instead snorts in open skepticism. "You don't like being safe, you like being in control of the danger. Geniuses don't like boring, Q." Bond flicks his gaze over to him briefly, a sardonic eyebrow raised, before returning them to watching the road.

"Someone who makes exploding watches doesn't want 'safe'."

He eases them around a high speed corner and into town proper, toward the casino. The somewhat ramshackle homes of the local poor give way to increasingly tall buildings, the warm Caribbean night air lit up with carnival lights and LEDs around the signs as they approach the tourist sector. Bond has to put his foot on the break and clutch and downshift to deal with the more populated traffic, which leaves him better able to watch Q in between driving.

You.... have fun with the imagery, and good luck. Personally, Q can't really visualize himself in that... situation very well at all. So again, luck to you. He misses the intrigued look completely though, his eyes on his own 'driving'.

"Yes, well-" A smirk. "I do have a soft spot for the classics at times. Though it's what you do with the exploding what I have faith in. Does safe always have to mean boring? I'd disagree with you on that." He sure doesn't like boring, Bond at least has that right. He wouldn't be the Quartermaster if he was boring.

He sways a little as Bond drives, his legs adjusting and suddenly tensing to better brace himself while continuing to look over his phone. Already has he gotten a good idea of everything in the Casino, the exits, the back halls and rooms, where security is located. Now he's moving onto tracing active in going and out going calls, organizing them, and sifting through them one by one. He does so at as break neck a pace as Bond drives, already signalling out a few to keep tabs on. It's an ongoing deal for him, swipe, tap, a turn of his screen, moving to type at the small inscreen keypad, his eyes moving every which way, his expression focused.

It says more about Bond than anything else that he associates safe with boring. He takes the point but doesn't expect to change his mind on that assessment any time soon. In any case, it's much more interesting to speculate on what Q is like as a lover. This is the sort of idle speculation Bond engages in for anyone attractive he comes across, no matter the feasibility of him actually getting in their pants. Unattainable is so rarely actually unattainable for James Bond.

He wonders if he'd be loud or shy. For some reason, his imagination is determined that it's one or the other, and not in the middle.

Ah, right. The actual conversation. Bond isn't surprised that Q can multitask his job and conversation as well as he can, though it is a little funny to have him doing it next to him in the car instead of reading out the results to him through his earwig from the comforts of MI6.

"You do realize classic can mean more than tweed and watches," he points out, pulling into the parking lot. "You should branch out."

Really branch out.

It's novel indeed, though since he's going to be a partner to him more directly this time he assumes he doesn't have to read out every little thing now. It'll come up later and he'll make sure the both of them are prepared. He gets the idea for a more quiet and easy way to communicate too now thinking about it... Another swipe of his thumb and he makes a note before returning to his work.

Because yes, doing work, he's not thinking about what James is at all. The innuendo was funny but he's letting it stay at that.

"Well your cuff links emit a covering smoke, don't they?" Said as he finally pockets his phone and gives Bond a glance before opening his car door. "I've only just gained my title, perhaps a little time to soak my feet will better acclimate me to this 'style' of yours."

Thinking about sex is work for James, at least sometimes. It certainly isn't something he chides himself for getting distracted by. He can multi-task as well as Q; he's just dividing his attention between different things.

He lets the thoughts go, though, refocusing as he shuts off the car and gets out. "And now you'll get to see it up close," he says, locking the car and walking around it over to Q. There's a glint in his eyes that's indecipherable, masking his anticipation for the job. "From now on, in character only."

A smirk. "Shall we?"

Sex certainly can be persuasive, Q won't argue that. And how ever James does what he does he can't really say much against it either because the job gets done. So if sex is howbyou do it, kudos! Please continue.

Just inside his glasses will he catch that glint and gives a small look of his own before transferring his gaze to the casino. His fade or what left of it fades and he moves a hand up to adjust his glasses.

"Yes sir." Into character it is, sir.

He smooths out his smirk, though Q calling him sir isn't helping on the distraction front. It's so flagrantly out of character that the only place aside from being undercover it could possibly be said is in bed.

But he really isn't about to get distracted, not even by watching those fine-boned, slim hands adjust his glasses. Bond strides forward, dynamic but unhurried as he approaches the door. His calm assertiveness gets him in the door to what's a thoroughly high roller casino without more than a respectful nod from the doorman, Q a few paces behind him.

"So, Quentin, in your informed opinion, where do you think we should start?" He can't resist needling him with a made up name. He's hardly able to refer to him as a letter undercover.

Ordinarily, this is when Bond would scout around until he found a beautiful woman who was in trouble and found out what she knew. With Q here, things can probably be a little more directed. Plus even James knows not to flirt in front of someone you'd just been flirting with. Ruins his chances.

"Of course, Mr. Trickelbank." Said with a straight face but he's nearly smiling and the continued endearment at Bond's verbal comedy.

They step in and with a quiet glance around he lifts a hand, gently gesturing as he replies.

"Considering it's 'your money' we're spending here, shouldn't you pick? Though I suppose I'm rather aware of your strengths, still-" A thoughtful glance to the side, continuing this in character bit while inserting his hints.

"There are two of us, blackjack could be a good start." Mostly because of the fellows around aid blackjack table, one of them being a bit dull and drunk, judging from his texts... He turns to lead them in that direction but not too quickly, allowing Bond to take the lead once he sees where the blackjack tables are.

"So petty, Quentin," he murmurs at the terrible name he's been graced with, ignoring the fact that he'd been the petty one to start with.

Bond takes his cue without delay and lengthens his strides to lead them over once he sees. "Blackjack, one of the few games you can beat the house at. Excellent choice. I do like to win."

It probably sounds like he really is just talking about gambling at this point. Since it's Bond, there's still a low undercurrent of innuendo he can't himself about. It's helping him to push away memories of Vesper that standing anywhere in a casino bring bubbling to the surface.

You did start it. And here Q rather likes Bond, but a character's a character.

"Beat the house, oh, and here I was hoping not to activate any smoke alarms." Said for two reasons, one, to stay in character, playing at the idea that 'Mr. Trickelbank' means to burn holes in his pockets. And two- that those smoking cufflinks will work well in that area. It's up to Bond to see why for himself, but doing so won't be difficult. There's a lot of high tables here and smaller bars, including two side exits into crew only room, and a membership authorization door. Should anything happen here, smoke if necessary would cover where they're going.

Though, he'd prefer not to do anything on the actual gambling floor, nothing so drastic anyway. His statement about smoke alarms was more to get Bond looking around for those exits and doors.

Upon getting to the blackjack tables, it's obvious that it's a spotlight for the night. It's loud here, and there's a host of powerhouses at a table with their partners. The most commotion is coming from a man at that very table, someone quite happy about his winnings and with a partner that seems to be on his last nerve. 'Quentin' lifts his chin a little, brows up.

"Well that group seems lively." Another flag. That group has three people he's already suspecting. At least one of them should have some intel on his boss as well as if said boss is here and where.

It's some time later that James has smoothly lifted a key card from a drunken gambler Q had flagged for him, and is directing Q back outside as if they were leaving. They're getting to the heist part of the evening, which means the boring schmoozing is over. He can't take a woman home with him-- his normal casino behavior, if Vesper's ghost weren't lurking behind his eyes-- with Q here, not if he intends to make him seriously question Bond's intent behind all the flirting. But the anticipation is starting to get to him, making him lapse into habit.

His hand rests lightly on the small of Q's back, right where that hideous tweed jacket dips in to his waist, and leans in to murmur in his ear, "We should go. I've heard the service entrance is positively titillating, dear."

There's no reason Trickelbank and his accountant Quentin couldn't be in an illicit relationship on the side. It's half-expected, honestly; if Trickelbank doesn't have some salacious detail about him, that's what seems suspicious.

It's true that things quickly started to get tense. The closer they got to the group and all their mingling, the closer they got to the end of this part of their mission, or perhaps the whole mission if they managed to get the intel they were looking for OR get rid of the main man pulling strings. It was interesting to see Bond this closely on the field to.

It was- empowering, knowing he was helping such a dedicated and skilled individual, it's no wonder he always came through. He was- well, a work of art. How Bond could charm and mesh with a crowd. Q was nothing like that, his skills were near genius, but they stayed in the area they were in. He wasn't meant for this field work, but being here for this particular mission was important. He wouldn't have any access to Bond otherwise, and honestly he was hoping to get his hands on some of the technology they were using for scrambling, it was pretty brilliant. Not brilliant enough that he couldn't make it better though.

The light touch on his lower back catches Q a little by surprise though. His hand suddenly tightens on his phone and he turns his head, feeling his ear and a curl of hair gently dust over lips and it's all too intimate. It was very strange for him, and he's usually the one that's the voice in a ear, isn't he? And for Bond to speak like that, the way his voice sounds, his word choice, dear. Is he playing at him again?

He wants to make some smart reply by for some reason his lips are tighter than usual and his face feels hot. Get ahold of yourself, it's more of Bond's ridiculous manner.

A smile, and he lifts his chin, pocketing his phone.

"A service entrance?" What's he diddling on about, seriously, it's just humour, adult rated humour yes, but humour just the same. He lets out a small, easing breath through his nose. "Let's, though it certainly doesn't make me feel pampered, leaving out the door the cleaners use. Are you usually so suave with your exits?"

The way his expression twitches and his skin starts to flush is delightful. Bond immediately wants more of it, and with events going as they are, he's already starting to shed layers of self-restraint. Violence and sex are so close to one another, after all; preparing for one is a lot like preparing for the other, all raw physicality and a release of inhibition.

He presses his fingertips to the small of Q's back to direct him, easing him away toward the exit. When he speaks, it's that same soft, intimate voice near his ear, the same role reversal Q's noticed. Though Q certainly never speaks this nicely to James over the comms.

"We have an access point; I stole a key card. No need to hang around here any longer. I need to take my sweet young thing back home for a thorough buggering, don't you think?"

His voice practically caresses the sudden crassness of his words, content completely at odds with tone. Just how serious about it is he? Typical spies: actually serious about it, but pretending to Q it's a joke, while pretending to the room it's real.

How odd would it be for him to take on such a sultry tone when he's speaking through that earpiece? He doesn't plan on taking that up, it just sounds ridiculous. He's not really fighting against it happening to him right now though. There's something pleasing about this sort of attention but it's-

Well, Bond DID say he still had spots. He's young, not that young to not have any experience intimately, but young enough that he hasn't really racked up the experience either. That and he's just not-

Well he lives alone with cats, what do you think?

Someone this close, someone he knows and has already some how gotten to trust touching him and speaking like this to him is strangely persuasive and satisfying. But at the same time he feels on a metaphorical edge. They're still joking around- aren't they? Why does Bond always manage to do this with him? He never knows when he's actually being messed with or not, not before it's too late anyway.

"Well I'm not about to bite your arm off for it when you put it like that." How romantic, James, though damnit, he's finding it really hard staying in character... just what were their characters anymore? Ah, he'll just be happy to be done with this part of the plan. His walking pace picks up, getting that hand off his lower back finally as he heads to the service entrance. The fresh air might do him a bit of good-

them both a bit of good.

Bond isn't cruel. Once he's secured Q's cooperation in his seduction, he won't leave him in ambiguity past that point about his intentions. He actually likes Q, personally, a lot moreso than he often does the women he sleeps with-- and he undoubtedly trusts him leagues more. But until that point, he's not a man used to rejection, and he'll keep playing this game with him.

"Bite my arm off for it?" he repeats, musing. "Do you have fetishes I don't know about, Quentin? I thought I knew everything there was to know about you in bed by now."

Since obviously if he had a piece like this on his arm on a regular basis, James would spend entire days taking him apart just to learn how to play him like a fiddle. He's still in character. Sort of.

Although, watching Q pick up the pace and leave the light warmth of his hand, he thinks to himself that he doesn't mind the chase either. The harder he tries to evade him, the more he wants. Bond is every inch as confident going out as he was going in, nodding coolly to the doorman and walking quickly enough to be apace Q once they're out.

"You did memorize the map of the place, didn't you?" Since he certainly hadn't. Where exactly is the service entrance? That's entirely what Q's for. Just because he's here instead of at MI6 speaking through his ear piece doesn't change that role, to Bond.

"Doesn't everyone have things that get them going? I'm still human, sir, even being as close to numbers as I am." What a fetish biting arms off would be! He's certainly aware of vore too, being as invested in computers as he is. It's got nothing to do with his own fantasies though, ones he'd prefer to just joke about now than dive into.

There's a slight snerk as the implication that they's slept together and he dismisses the urge to flush as heat rises up into his face again.

"Certain things are just too much to share with a continued partner though, right? Were things starting to lose it's spark?" But before they can really get anymore banter in, their out, and Bond falls right back into work.

Q looks up over the building, nodding.

"Yes, I did, every inch." Out an entrance and around to find another. "This way, take a right here. We'll find a small garden, it obscures where they take in some of the trucks. Come on."

Tooo work then! He knows this a lot better than flirting, he starts to book it around, heading to where he knows that door to be like a blood hound on the trail.

Bond, meanwhile, often combines flirting with said work, and doesn't intend to stop now.

He jogs lightly after Q in his bespoke suit, tailor made to allow action like this without restriction. It's a pleasant surprise to receive direction without any accompanying sarcastic ridicule. Maybe he's flustering Q more than he thinks. Or maybe Q likes him more than he thinks. Bond is happy with either.

One hand checks on his gun before withdrawing the keycard from his pocket as they approach. "So what are those things?" he asks smoothly. He trusts that Q has the mission planning well in hand, and though his eyes are scanning their surroundings to make sure they aren't watched or apprehended, on the lookout for snipers or cameras, Bond otherwise relinquishes mission direction to him and goes back to his preferred activity.

"Since we're not continued partners, there's no danger in putting me off." A flash of an irreverent smile.

"What things?" Sorry he's- not thinking about kinks anymore. To Bond's question he quickly looks around, trying to spot whatever things he's talking about. There's nothing, no one- yet anyway. There could easily be someone lingering around here now with how close they're getting to a back entrance. But then, a lot of the security was inside right now, expecting something from there.

"Hm-" A glance back, now realizing what he meant after none of these 'things' were spotted. Flustered, yes, he glances away, pulling in a long sigh.

"Mr. Trickelbank, is this really the time? I could got more hot and bothered than I'd like talking about those things, and out here? Do I seem like a man who fancies dark alleyways for a good time?"

Q's really committed to character, he sees. Of course, Bond suspects half this commitment is to get out of having to respond sincerely.

"It's always the smart, quiet ones. Although I suspect you aren't quiet." Another flash of that smile, before it evaporates into business, Bond sliding up to the back entrance and swiping the key card through. He waits for the light to turn green, then just cracks the door open to make sure it doesn't lock again. He pocks the card and smoothly draws his gun, thumbing off the safety preemptively and keeping it properly pointed at the ground.

He glances over. "Keep behind me." It's an order, not a suggestion. Then he's pulling the door fully open.

Right on the money, Bond! It makes joking around much easier when he can be Quentin.

"Oh the right topic and I'm sure you'd be done with me in moments. You could say the same with any man with a passion I think." Again their banter will be cut short by work though. Q is quick to nod, understanding, and moves up close behind him, following him in.

"There are a few doors to the left upon entering, the first is a stock closet, the second the same, the third left door is the start of a few conference rooms." Quiet as he informs him, running through the blueprints in his head.

Too bad 'Mr. Trickelbank' is almost indistinguishable from James Bond. Funny, that.

"Understood." He's professional as he leads them in, appreciating that Q'd done the work of memorizing the layout so he didn't have to this time. Bond goes off-comm so often he's gotten used to navigating blind, but it's more expedient this way. He heads for the conference rooms, sure the head honcho's office will be that way.

He doesn't take his eyes away from watching for others, and he drops his voice, but he still says, "It'd take me much longer than a few moments to be done with you." He's getting more overt now, more daring.

What a conundrum, maybe he should create and assign disguises and personas for him too? Don't you want to avoid being type casted, Bond?

It just show how differently they handle situations. Q feels secure knowing everything, he likes action, suspense, but he deals with his problems by learning as much about a situation as he can and going from there. There was no hack and slash, he was prepared, the obvious mage in their group.

Just as Q said, the doors begin, they can hear some low chatter behind the third left door as they near it. He's so focused on what they're doing that what Bond says nearly moves past him and he turns his attention to him. Q's expression is- a little bewildered, he fears he's losing this game.

"Well I suppose I'll just take your word on that one then, I appreciate your honesty." A swallow, glancing to the side, then facing forward again. Please let's remain on task while we're in here, thanks. We just need to focus, get what we need, and get out, hopefully without ending up in the black on money and in the red in deaths.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

} where you go I go

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time skip!

breathes heavily

HELLO

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